Out•li•er

1: A person or thing situated away or detached from the main body or system
2: A person or thing excluded from a group; an outsider

Earlier this year, I was speaking with someone, and well … she called me a name.

Over the previous 15 months, I had shared with Melissa McCool, LCSW, my therapist at Kaiser Permanente, about both the challenges and rewards of
living as a long-term cancer survivor – one who currently copes with the late-effects of the radiation and chemo­therapy I had in the 80s.

“You’re an outlier. The rules of life don’t apply to you. You have survived or lived beyond expectations.”

On that day, I was expressing to
her that it has felt like an old wound being reopened every time I’ve re­ceived the all too frequent news of
a new diagnosis or the worsening of
an existing condition.

She responded with this: “You’re
an outlier. The rules of life don’t apply to you. You have survived or lived
beyond expectations. Perhaps a more helpful way to think, Glen, the next time you’re told of a new or worsening condition is to remember you’re
an outlier.”

I thought to myself, Outlier. I like the sound of that. Yeah! I’m an outlier.

Right then, I decided that the next time a doctor gives me a new diagnosis or tells me an existing condition has worsened, I’ll say with a huge grin on my face, “Doctor, I’m not surprised. You see, I’m an outlier!”
When the meeting with my thera­pist ended, I kept thinking about my new descriptor. I’m an outlier. Yeah,
I’m an outlier.

I’ve survived beyond expectations. And for as long as I live, I’ll be happy to call myself an outlier.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Glen Kirkpatrick is a writer and retired police officer living in San Diego, CA. He
is a chronic lymphocytic leukemia survivor and two-time Hodgkin lymphoma survivor.

This article was published in Coping® with Cancer magazine,
July/August
2013.